


The Man In 17B

by nimrod262, theosymphany



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: DADT, First Meetings, Homosexuality, Interviews, M/M, Navy SEALs, Nivanfield, San Diego, The BSAA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrod262/pseuds/nimrod262, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theosymphany/pseuds/theosymphany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't about Piers Nivans 'coming out', he doesn't, except to himself.<br/>It's not about Piers meeting Chris Redfield for the first time, though he does.<br/>It isn't even about Piers finding a 'cause', although he's looking for one.<br/>What it is about is a particular period in time when all of these things are just about to combine; to create something magical that we now call Nivanfield.</p><p>A one-off Nivanfield tale, set in their very earliest days . . . Um, not any more, now it's becoming a mini-series!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man In 17B

**Author's Note:**

> Ch 1. Having bumped them off in my last short, I thought it only fair to go right back to their very first meeting in this one.  
> Nathan's Smoke House is no longer in San Diego. A shame, Kyle and Josh were great barmen! ;P

Piers made his decision to leave the army in early 2010. Increasingly he'd felt disenchanted with army life. Sure, his sniping skills were recognised and appreciated. He both attended and gave training courses; but to what end? He needed a purpose in his life, a cause which he could embrace, where his skills would be useful, valued. Not hanging around waiting for the politicians to decide on the next spec op or conflict. Such idealism was not popular with his superiors. _Shape up or ship out Nivans,_ if he'd had a dollar every time he'd heard that one. So he decided to quit. Everything was going well until his father found out . . .

"Pa chewed me out Mom, he virtually disowned me." He was sat on the edge of his bed.

"He'll come round son."

"Yeh, when hell freezes over!"

"You're just like him you know, you always were both stubborn as mules."

"He said I had embarrassed him in front of his friends. That I'd dishonoured the Nivans family name. He said I'd failed him . . . that I was his biggest disappointment. Oh Mom, am I? Am I really all those things he said?" Piers felt his chest tighten, the tears forming in his eyes. Twenty three, but he felt like he was four years old again.

"No Piers, you're none of those things, believe me. You're kind, loyal, smart as a whip and twice as fast." She took his head in her hands and looked into his eyes. "You're so like him you know. Both fiercely proud, both perfectionists. Sometimes the world's too small for such men."

Piers sobbed, he buried his face in his mother's chest.

"Shh now baby, let it go. That's the real difference between you and Poppa. You let your emotions show, it's your strength Piers. He hides his away, that's his weakness. Why don't you go away for a while, take a break? You've got your transition leave to use up. You must have made lots of friends in the army you could stay with?"

Piers looked up at her. "Not really Mom, most people just left me alone. Well, to be honest, I left them alone, I preferred things that way . . ."

She pulled him close again. "Oh my poor baby, you always did do things the hard way. There's so much love inside of you. Take my advice, go and look for someone who needs you. Find someone else to worry about other than yourself."

"You think I'm self-obsessed?"

"No Piers, of course not, but you might become like that. Go chase an ideal, and find a person to share it with. Only then will you find happiness yourself. A boy or a girl, I don't mind; as long as they make you happy."

"A boy? . . . you knew. . .?"

"Of course, I'm your mother. But let that be our secret. No need for Poppa to find out, not yet anyways."

"There's a guy I know down in San Diego, Gary Hall; he's a Lieutenant in the Navy SEALS. We did a combined op together, and found we were both keen surfers. I could stay with him perhaps?"

"Then wax your board and go 'hang ten' or whatever you boys call it. Leave Poppa to me." She kissed his head gently. "And when you do find that special someone, bring them back here. The old man doesn't rule my roost. He thinks he does, but he never has!" She winked at Piers then laughed like a young girl.

"Thanks Mom, how come you’re so clever and wise? I don't know how you do it. You make it look so easy."

"I'm a mother silly, it's what we all do. Come on now Piers, dry your tears. No time like the present, I'll help you pack. Best you get away before your father comes out of his den!"

************************

Although in his final months, Piers was still formally in the US Army; so it wasn't too much of a problem for Gary to fix him up with accommodation on the Silver Strand base. It was fine for the first week, he would meet up with Gary and his mates in the evenings and they would hit Coronado, or cross the high sweeping bridge to San Diego; but the days dragged. He found the base Education Section and dusted off his resume. He also looked through the various job offers posted on the careers notice board. The usual sort of stuff, bodyguards, private security agencies, escorts, lifeguards, the police. He applied for some positions, but really didn't have any expectations. Who outside of the military wanted a trained sniper? No one legitimate, that was for sure.

After a week he decided to move over to the City, he could network better there, perhaps even meet that someone special along the way. Gary and his team mates were great guys, but Piers felt like a round green army peg in a square blue navy hole. There were only so many times he could enjoy getting pissed up with his friends in Mc P's Irish pub. And as for being gay, DADT made sure you kept your mouth shut tight. He acted straight, always had. It was the only option. If anyone had suspicions they kept it to themselves. But it created a climate of fear, making it difficult to find another serviceman who felt the same way. He hated living a lie, but concealment had become his way of life as well as his trade. It might be easier in a civilian environment.

So he booked himself into the Manchester Grand Hyatt, overlooking Seaport Village and across to the North Island air station. There always seemed to be an SH-60 Seahawk or two in the circuit. He found the familiar noise of the Sikorsky's comforting, just like being back in the Green Berets. He was used to roughing it on tour and spec ops, but on holiday Piers liked to be comfortable. God knows he didn't spend his money on much when he was on base. He'd learnt from his Mom, buy good quality and make it last.

Gary called him up a couple of days after he'd settled in.

"Hey bro' got another job possibility for ya', some UN outfit called the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, jeez what a mouthful huh? How bout' I swing over with it tonight?"

"They need snipers?"

"Shit knows, they do what they call special ops, but they're as secret as we are!"

"Thanks Gary, tell you what, let's meet at Nathan's Smoke House, in the Gaslamp Quarter. You know it?"

"Sure, on Island, great ribs! Say 20:00?'

"See you there, and thanks for looking out for me."

"Family, right?"

"Yeh, we'll drink to that!"

Nathan's, _We're Smokin'_ , had quickly become Piers favourite bar. The food was delicious, especially the pulled pork and the sliders; but there was another reason. A young barman named Kyle. About the same age as Piers, he had an easy grace and a devastating smile. At this time of year the bar wasn't too busy and Piers had chatted happily in between Kyle serving customers. Military men the world over can usually recognise a serving or former member, and so it was with Kyle and Piers. He was ex-Navy, had just about completed his SEAL training as a 'tadpole' when he suffered a breathing spasm attack after a long-duration cold water immersion test. And bang, he was out, medically discharged. Kyle pretended to be philosophical about it, but Piers could sense his disappointment. And here he was deliberately ending his own army career!

Was Kyle the one? Piers wasn't experienced enough to know. They had talked earnestly together; but was Kyle just being polite to a customer? Was he even gay? All Piers knew was that he began to look forward to each evening in Kyle's company.

The night he was due to meet Gary, Piers walked to the bar early. Across the trolley lines and up into the old Gaslamp Quarter. With any luck he could spend some time chatting to Kyle before Gary arrived and he had to resume his mask of heterosexuality. Only Kyle wasn't there. The bar manager, Josh, was on duty. Well muscled with a neat beard, he smiled at Piers when he came in. Piers must have looked disappointed, his heart certainly sank.

"Are you OK sir?"

"Um, no, it's alright thanks, I was expecting to meet someone here."

Josh gestured to the TV screen at the end of the bar. "You following the football?"

"Er, not really." Piers knew straightaway it was not the answer any red-blooded male would give. "Been kinda' busy recently." he said lamely. "How's San Diego doing?"

"Badly man, I played two seasons with the Chargers till I got injured. Sure miss that camaraderie of being on the team."

"Yeh, I know what you mean." Kyle came in and Piers face brightened. That is until Kyle went behind the bar and was met with a kiss and an embrace from Josh."

"Oh, Hi Piers. So you've met my someone special?" said Kyle. "We were both lost, out of a job and we met here. How's that for luck?"

"Great." Piers lied as he smiled weakly. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. _Fuck, how do you find the right someone?_ Piers found a table in a dark corner of the bar, to help hide his disappointment. Gary arrived about thirty minutes later with some pamphlets and an application form.

"Hey bro' this is all I could get on the BSAA. Say, are you ready to eat? We've been practising fast at-sea drops and pickups all day, I could eat a horse."

"Sure." Piers lied for a second time. He'd lost his appetite half an hour ago . . .

************************

"Any mail for me Mom?" Piers rang home every other day to check.

"Let me see baby . . . Oh, there's one here with a Washington DC box number. The BASS?"

"BSAA Mom, can you open it and read it please?"

"There's a letter acknowledging your application and something about attending an interview . . . Oh, it's been crossed out! Someone's written PTO in large letters over the second paragraph. Let me see, this bit's hand written Piers. It says;

_'I have made some enquiries about you, and I am impressed._

_You are invited to attend selection for Alpha Team, March 15th, 08:30_

_Signed: Captain C. Redfield, SOU Alpha, BSAA North America.'_

"Why, that's next Monday! There's some stuff here about travel and transport arrangements, it's somewhere in Pennsylvania apparently. Does that make sense Piers? It seems very strange I must say, writing over an official letter like that."

"Danged if I know Mom, but at least it's positive. I'll make arrangements to go from here. Where is it again . . ?

************************

"Tch!" Piers rolled his hazel eyes yet again as the queue shambled slowly towards the check-in desk. One more step to eternity. He'd soon got tired of carrying his bag over his shoulder; now he kicked it along the floor every time the line took a step forward. Just like the rest of the 'cattle'.

He hated flying, well, this sort of flying anyway. He'd lost count of the hours he'd spent sat in the back of a 'Fat Albert'. Earplugs screwed in tight, until he'd bought his first iPod. Then his music vied with the drone of four Allison T-56s. He had worried about his hearing; it was one of his key sniper's senses. One that he could not afford to have damaged at such an early stage in his career. So he had soon purchased a set of large, comfortable ear-phones, much to everyone else's amusement. "You got no street cred Nivans." Like most of the comments aimed at him, he took little notice.

But military flying had a sense of purpose; insertion, extraction. A well-oiled professional feel, an inherent speed and vitality. Flying commercial just sucked by comparison. How could it ever provide that feeling in the pit of your stomach as you headed out on ops? How could it provide the heart-felt relief you experienced with an extraction from some hell hole or other? That euphoric feeling that you'd cheated death once more; that you'd survived to make the journey back home yet again.

As Piers shuffled through boarding they made the final call for the flight, the gate was now closing. He sensed rather than saw someone running towards the desk. He turned around from his position in the queue to look. A large powerfully-built man was sprinting towards the gate. Long, easy strides eating up the distance, like a big cat running down it's prey. And barely making a sound; remarkable for someone Piers judged to be over 6ft and around 220lbs. There was always someone late for the flight, today was this dumb ox's turn.

Piers found his seat onboard. 17A, a window seat. He sat down and looked out of the window. He saw the reflection of the big man sit down in the next seat. He could hear his breathing, pretty regular for someone who'd just been running. But the body heat gave him away, Piers could feel it, like a physical presence. And it carried a strong scent, lemon and melon overlaying the man's natural musk. Piers knew his colognes, this was Kenneth Cole's Reaction. He'd tried it himself, but preferred a woodier smell. Whoever had chosen it had chosen well, it took the hard edge off the man's natural odour and replaced it with a citrus tang. Piers breathed in the aroma deeply, it was a perfect pairing. Perhaps he wasn't such a dumb ox after all. He noticed the man returning his gaze in the window. He blushed a little and closed his eyes, pretending to doze. Memorising the heat and the smell, filing them away for future reference.

The man in 17B drank and ate copiously throughout most of the flight, and not once did he get up and go to the restroom. As a sniper, Piers had been trained to hold it in, you couldn't stop and go for a pee during a concealed shot. This man's bladder capacity had to be enormous. Probably on the same scale as the rest of him thought Piers, not without some envy. When he wasn't eating or drinking he spent the time going through what looked like personnel files. They had small photos attached by paperclip, which looked like mug shots. Piers watched his reflection again. The man's lips would move as he read the information, sometimes he would mumble and cross sections out, or make notes alongside the typed text. Occasionally a very clear "No!" could be heard before the rejected file was put back in his briefcase. He was smartly dressed, a light grey business suit, collar and tie. It may have been old, it was clearly a tight fit. Not over fat, but muscle. The man certainly looked as if he worked out. His arms and neck almost matched the size of his thighs, all straining to escape the grey cloth. It wasn't long before he took his jacket off and put it in the overhead locker. The white shirt was short sleeved, barely fitting around his biceps. Soon the tie was pulled down askew and the collar unbuttoned. He didn't seem comfortable in a suit Piers thought. What was he? College sports coach, surrounded by adoring girls? Personnel Manager? Not military though, he didn't look the type who would take orders, much less follow them. It was difficult to tell from the reflection, and Piers was too reserved to engage in open conversation, but the man fascinated him. The look, the scent, the heat? All of those and yet something more; an undeniable 'presence'. Piers felt himself hardening in his pants; and put his hands over his lap in embarrassment. He decided on the girls college, if only to take his mind of his insistent manhood.

Three hours into the flight and the man had closed his briefcase and put his seat back. In a few minutes a gentle, regular snoring could be heard. Piers took the opportunity to sneak a direct peek at his fellow traveller. He could see the rise and fall of a powerfully built chest, and a flat stomach. But the hands and arms! They were huge; covered with little nicks and long scars, like he was a prize fighter. The large knuckles were hard and calloused. Piers hadn't seen anything quite like it before. What the hell did he do? As the food trolley came around again the man had seemed to sense it's presence, even with his eyes closed. He ordered and began to eat again. Fuelling up thought Piers, as he ate his own meagre salad. He sneaked a furtive sideways glance. Damn! The guy was good looking, even when he was eating!

When he'd finished his meal Piers closed his eyes and tried to run through his interview technique for the following Monday. Planning his response to a range of questions, particularly the curve balls. If you didn't answer them promptly you were usually sunk. He noted the pamphlet had said the BSAA was an equal opportunities employer. _What if they asked him about his sexuality?_ _Play the straight Piers_ , he told himself. _Preserve the facade. No use inviting more awkward questions._ Was that lying or was it maintaining one's privacy? It was hard to concentrate; every so often the scent and heat from the man sitting next to him drifted over. _KISS, Keep It Simple Stupid_ , Piers reminded himself. _Or did he mean kiss?_ He drifted into sleep.

He felt a powerful nudge in his ribs. The man in 17B grinned and gestured to his lap belt. They were coming in to Washington.

As the engines wound down the man reached up into the locker for his travel bag. Piers could see the dark hair of his arm pits showing through the thin, damp material of the shirt. The man smiled and mouthed a silent 'Bye' the way parting travellers do the world over. Then he was gone, lost in the frenzy of disembarking passengers. Piers suddenly felt like he'd lost a friend, his best friend. _Christ, he's just a stranger on a plane Piers, pull yourself together. That's not how you meet Mr Right, even to please your Mom._

And then he saw him again, in the arrivals lounge. He was swinging a giggling laughing redheaded girl round and around in his powerful arms. Young bride, girlfriend? Piers looked down, feeling he was intruding on a private moment. When he looked up again the man had gone, for real this time.

************************

The taxi driver had recommended a reasonable hotel, just outside the city centre. As Piers flopped down on the bed after taking a shower he thought about the evenings activities. He'd been to Washington before, mostly visits to the Pentagon, but there was no need to take in the tourist sights. Perhaps some cruising down-town? He had heard good things about the Dupont Circle one of Washington's up and coming gay districts. Where else was there? But instead his mind recalled the scent and heat of the man in 17B. Where was he? What was he doing right now? His cock twitched in response, calling for his attention. He should be out, chasing some ass, but all his thoughts centred around this unattainable fantasy. He'd never see the guy again, he was probably straight anyway, all the good ones were. Perhaps his Mom was right, he needed someone to care for. This guy seemed perfectly happy, but supposing he wasn't? What if he was the 'ideal'? How could you tell? His thoughts were spinning around inside his head. He went outside to cool down. He got a Chinese take-away from across the street and went back to his room. That's how it always ended, him alone in a room with an indifferent meal, and occasionally, if he was lucky, an indifferent lover. He wasn't the easiest person to get on with he knew. Always too much the perfectionist, he hadn't yet learnt the art of relaxing in company . . . OK, he was a loner. He finished his meal and threw the left-overs into the trash can outside. He wanted to smell that cologne again tonight, not beef stir fry with noodles. He wanted to imagine the warmth of that powerful body against his own. This time his cock was insistent, he stroked it gently, then a little harder . . .

The next morning it was Piers who was late for his flight; he hadn't allowed enough time for the Washington rush hour traffic. He tore into the departure lounge, looking desperately for his check-in counter. He hadn't even see her, both he and the redheaded girl went sprawling over the floor.

"Hey! Didn't you see me you friggin' dummy?"

"I . . . I'm sorry . . ."

"Jeez, I hope your job doesn't involve having good eyesight! You need glasses!"

"No, er yes . . ."

"After all, I'm not hard to miss."

"Um, no you're . . ."

"Are you trying to pick me up?"

"No, no . . . not . . ."

"Why? Don't you find me attractive, is that it?"

"Sorry . . . I prefer . . ."

"Oh, don't tell me, you prefer blondes. Damn, what is it with you guys? Because if you were, like, trying to pick me up I would have to warn you."

"No, really . . . I'm not . . ."

"Oh! Well er, good, 'cos if were you wouldn't wanna' upset my big brother! He likes to vet my boyfriends first, you understand?"

"Yes, um, your big brother?"

"Yeah, he's kinda like a bear, he eats people like you for breakfast."

"Oh . . . well that's, um, that's nice."

"Nice? Are you real?

"S, sorry Miss, I'll miss my plane . . ."

"Is that a joke? See how I'm laughing."

"No, just . . . well, er, nice to meet you."

"Ha, that's it, run away red faced. Well, keep your cute hazel eyes open, my brother's on that plane. You'll know him when you see him. He's the one with fur and claws!"

************************

Piers was sweating by the time he boarded the little Twin-Otter aircraft, the last passenger to do so. What had happened to the cool, calm under pressure sniper? Piers always prided himself on controlling any tactical situation. Yet here he was flustered and blushing like a high school kid. Not over the girl, but her brother. Somewhere the man he'd spent the previous evening fantasising about was on this very plane. Oh God, there he was, sat in the window seat up ahead. Piers searched frantically for his boarding pass, he seemed to be all fingers and thumbs. 14B, oh . . . right next to guess who?

The man smiled as Piers sat down, still flushed and dripping sweat.

"Your turn to be late today huh?" the man said in a warm baritone voice. Piers was on the verge of answering when his mind went blank. It froze, leaving his mouth open yet silent. He could feel the colour flooding into his cheeks again. _C'mon Piers, think of something!_ He looked down at his feet, feeling foolish.

"I, I guess so." was all he eventually managed to stutter. When he looked over the man already had his briefcase open and was busy striking through yet another document, his heavy brow furrowed in concentration.  He didn't seem to have heard Piers' reply.

It was only a short flight, about an hour, in which time the man next to him consumed three black coffees and about a dozen personnel files.

They landed with a bump and the roar of reverse pitch, the airfield was about the size of a postage stamp. As the plane shut down on the pan Piers stood up and opened the overhead locker. He handed the man his over-night bag first.

"Thanks."

"Um, goodbye." mumbled Piers, he knew it would be the last time he'd ever see him again, it felt like losing part of himself. Perhaps he might say some final words?

"S'long kiddo." and that was it, he'd gone. That little inconsequential phrase would have to last him a lifetime? Piers sighed, he hadn't felt this miserable since his father had chewed him out. _Suck it up Nivans_ he ordered himself as he got his own bag out of the locker. _Tomorrow's an important day, best foot forwards. For the honour of the family name._ He heard his father saying it. _Damn!_ He had missed that final look. The man had bounded out of the plane and straight into a waiting black limo, it drove off at speed. Some girls college!

He stopped at the airport information desk. "Can you tell me the best way to get to the BSAA base please?"

"There's a bus waiting outside for you son; gotta' BSAA badge on the door, you can't miss it."

The minibus took Piers and seven other candidates through woods and past rivers up to the base, some twenty miles north of Williamsport. They would stay in the visitors quarters overnight. Initial interviews with Captain Redfield would start at 08:30 the next morning . . .

************************

Eight chairs had been lined up in the wide corridor; each had a name on. Piers' chair was the last one. All the candidates arrived early, 08:00. When the Captain hadn't appeared by 08:30 there was widespread confusion and panic amongst the potential recruits. Only Piers had remained calm. He recognised psychological warfare when he saw it. The Captain didn't arrive until 09:00.

Over the space of the next hour the applicants ahead of him were called in one by one. They all entered with more confidence than Piers felt himself. Some lasted barely five minutes, others almost ten. Without exception they all came out looking pale and somewhat less confident. None of them spoke, none of them stayed. What manner of beast was this Captain C. Redfield? The last recruit in front of him left the office, sweating and shaking his head in disbelief. Now it was his turn. Piers knocked on the door.

"Come." said a deep voice from inside the office. Piers entered and stood to attention. He took a deep breath.

"Lieutenant Piers Nivans, testing for Alpha team, Sir."

"Sit down Lieutenant. I'll be with you in just a moment." The Captain was head down, writing on a file. Other files lay in random piles on his desk, some had evidently spilt over onto the floor. He finished and looked up. Piers swallowed hard, speechless. It was the man in 17B.

"We've met before haven't we?" said the Captain, his heavy brow furrowed in thought as he spoke.

"Yes Sir, Saturday's flight over from San Diego, and then again yesterday, the flight up from Washington."

"Oh yes, you were late weren't you?"

"Er, yes Sir, like you the day before."

"Ha! So I was. A fine pair of soldiers we make eh?"

The Captain smiled as he flexed his arms behind his head and pushed back in his chair. Piers felt the hooded brown eyes gazing directly into his.

"So Lieutenant Nivans, you want to try for my team? Alpha, it's the best in the BSAA . . . What do I get in return?"


	2. Meanwhile . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a lovely little companion chapter to “The man in 17B” and was written by my good friend Theosymphany. It's an SMS between Claire and Chris, set in the same timeframe as Chapter 1. I've made some minor edits/changes with Theo's permission. His original tale appeared as his Banter #254, http://theosymphany.tumblr.com/post/137940972451/banter-254. I thought it deserved to sit alongside it's big brother over here on AO3. Thanks Theo, it was a lovely response!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 2: Please note this chapter is not the follow-up to "17B" some of you have requested, I'm still working on that one! Chapter 3 is provisionally titled "Interview Technique". Watch this space! nimrod262.

 

 **Claire:** Hey Chris, you still up?

 **Chris:** Yeah, sorry, I should have messaged earlier. Flight was OK, made it back to base in one piece. Nice not having to drive for once! Being a Founder sometimes has it perks!

 **Claire:** Should have taken a bike like I keep tell you.

 **Claire:** *telling

 **Chris:** Too much leather to haul around, I get hot easily.

 **Claire:** Big ole furnace Bearfield right? Just looking at you in a suit makes me hot.

 **Chris:** I have that effect on people.

 **Claire:** You *know* what I mean.

 **Chris:** Well the flight attendant gave me coffee very promptly each time I asked so there’s that.

 **Chris:** Oh and don’t you start on me. Jill has been telling enough bear jokes.

 **Claire:** I’m the master of them all!! I have 3 years’ head start on her.

 **Chris:** I don’t care when you started but this ends now!

 **Claire:** and I think Bearfield does suit you.

 **Chris:** Oi you share the same surname too.

 **Claire:** Nobody’s mistaken me for a wild beast yet…except.

 **Claire:** Oh, yeah, that’s the reason I’m texting. Guess what, I got knocked off my feet today after sending you to the gate.

[pause]

 **Claire:** … you aren’t gonna ask?

 **Chris:** If you’re texting and it wasn’t the first thing you said you’re obviously OK, but I pretended to punch the table for your sake.

 **Chris:** Wait, was that figuratively or liberally knocked off?

 **Chris:** *Literally

 **Claire:** Don’t smash your knuckles again. Other people will start noticing…

 **Chris:** So, who shall I slay to defend your honour this time?

 **Claire:** Hah, I can take care of myself plenty, thanks. And both, I guess?

 **Chris:** So is he missing a finger, or teeth, or hobbling around with an icepack between his legs?

 **Claire:** Ouch. I’m not *that* mean.

 **Chris:** (o.o)

 **Claire:** c(o.o)o

 **Claire:** He was kinda cute actually. In a clean cut classy yuppie kinda way but still kinda sophisticated? The guy was rushing to catch your flight I think. You probably saw him… rushing to the terminal like a bat outta' hell

 **Chris:** Hmm…

 **Claire:** Moth to the flame…

 **Chris:**  Uhhh, about 5’10, medium brown hair, straight as a nail? You wouldn’t notice if he was on his game blending in, but I can tell he’s definitely military at some point.

 **Claire:** Bees to honey…

 **Chris:** …

 **Claire:** Flies to (poop emoticon).

 **Chris:** I uh, I think he sat next to me.

 **Claire:** OMG, you’re the poop!

 **Claire:** LOL. Poop. Hahaha!

 **Chris:** …

 **Claire:** I mean you can’t be honey because you’re a bear. Maybe he’s your honey. That’s why he was running, right into… me. Wait what?

 **Chris:** Grrrr. Claire, wtf.

 **Claire:** Haha. Did you chat? I told him you would rip him apart if he tried a move on me. Boy was in cloud cuckoo-land. So many thoughts churning behind those big hazel eyes of his, but he seemed distracted once I mentioned I had a brother who’d bust his ass.

 **Chris:** I am NOT your free bodyguard. Stop threatening people with me!

 **Claire:** Enough to fly all the way to Antarctica.

 **Chris:** I’d do it again.

 **Claire:** Damn, I miss you already Chris, the weekend’s too short.

 **Chris:** Me too, it was nice to catch up though. Heck you should have just called. I hate how slow texting is. Fingers hit too many keys.

 **Claire:** Big guy problems.

 **Chris:** I kinda miss those phones with real keys you know. Just hammer it out.

 **Claire:** With your one index finger. And a steel grip that could crush metal. You embarrass me.

 **Chris:** Hey I was using phones before they were cool.

 **Claire:** Yet I text 3x as fast. Stop making me wait.

 **Chris:** The things I endure for you sake kiddo.

 **Claire:** Oh, here we go again.

 **Chris:** Whatever.

 **Claire:** I kinda wish he had made a move. He was kinda cute, hair with just that amount of mess, and clothes that actually fit well. And those shoes! Don’t see well put together guys like him too often.

 **Chris:** Hmph.

 **Claire:** If you run into him again, (haha) let me know OK? I like lattes, riding, and I’m single.

 **Chris:** Wow, holy…

[long pause]

 **Claire:** Chris?

 **Chris:** Uhhh? Oh nothing, just found a missing photo in this file. LOL. I have a feeling our paths may cross again. Anyway, I'd better get stuff ready. Got interviews early and I need to intimidate the pants off this new bunch of wannabe boots.

 **Claire:** Here’s a tip. Show up late and pretend it was on purpose, see if they lose their cool. The coolest guy is your keeper.

 **Chris:** Well seeing as it’s 1 am now I’m totally gonna' steal that idea. An extra hour in bed, good one! Zzzzzzzz!

 **Claire:** You sure need some cool headed guy to temper that furnace of yours. Love you Bro.

 **Chris:** Ha! I guess I do. Love you too Sis.


	3. Interview Technique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their own interview technique, ask Piers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch.3: This is the requested follow-up to 'The Man In 17B', I hope you enjoy it. I have used italics to show Chris' and Piers' inner thoughts and reactions during the interview. As ever, your comments are always appreciated. nimrod262.

 

**Two weeks after the interview:**

"Disappointed? You're disappointed?" Piers rolled his eyes in incredulity. "I thought just for once you might be pleased for me dammit. Pleased I'd found something truly worthwhile, where I can put something back into society, help people. I'm sorry sir, but you can take your disappointment and shove . . ."

"Piers!" Neither of them had seen or heard her come in to the den, they had been too busy arguing with one another. "Apologise to your father, now!"

"I'm sorry Mom, but not this time. I've had it." He felt his cheeks flush with anger and frustration. Leaving the army had marked a low point in his relationship with his father. Joining the BSAA however, had given him a new found confidence. He was not prepared to take his father's bullying attitude any more. For Piers it was a coming of age.

"Then you can go to your room and finish your packing. I'll bring you some supper later. Right now I want a quiet word with your father."

"S, Sorry Mom." Piers left looking downcast; closing the door quietly behind him.

Mrs Nivans fixed her husband with the icy stare that could drop a man at a hundred yards.

"And as for you, you're the boy's father, not his commanding officer. He's _our_ son, not some malingering Private. You've upset the children with all your ranting. How _dare_ you! It could be heard all over the house. Lord knows it's not often they're all under one roof these days. You can apologise to them for a start. And whilst you're at it you can think of an apology to me. You know our rules, we don't go to bed angry with one another. And just now I'm madder 'n hell! If not, you sleep on your own down here tonight, and every night, until you do apologise. This is _my_ house, _my_ home; not some place I casually drop by for the occasional weekend. I will _not_ tolerate such behaviour here; do I make myself clear? Well? . . . I'm _waiting_ . . ."

************************

Piers closed the lid on his suitcase. His whole world in one case and a bulging military holdall. It didn't seem much after nearly five years in the army. Anything else he needed would have to be sent on later; but in truth he relished a clean, fresh start, a break with the past. He'd found Captain Redfield inspirational. He hadn't realised he was one of the founding members of the BSAA. His dedication and enthusiasm were infectious. His style of leadership was so very different to anything he'd so far experienced. And he had this concept of the twelve man SOU team as a 'family'. Rank was barely an issue, it was implicit, not applied. You were respected for what you did, not who you were. Piers knew it wouldn't be easy at first, he had played the loner for too long. The only people he'd ever really got close to were his spotters. And that was another difference, in the BSAA snipers were more like marksmen than anything else. Working on their own; positioned behind, but moving with, the advancing tactical soldiers. Always protecting their six o'clock. Captain Redfield had explained it to him, a new tactic he had recently developed. It was a big responsibility, but Piers relished the new challenge. He was determined he would excel in this role just as he had in everything else he'd ever done in the military. _I will not let you down Captain_.

And therein lay the problem. Captain Christopher Redfield. Piers' initial infatuation with him had not gone away. In fact the more he learnt about the man, the more infatuated he became. Part legend, part enigma, the private man remained almost a complete mystery. Aside from the facts that he had a redheaded sister, and no partner, male or female, Piers knew very little about him out of work. And he knew he would have to keep this infatuation under control . . . and his own sexual inclinations well hidden. At least until he knew more about the man. For some, homosexuality would always remain a taboo in the military. But he had determined from the very beginning that supporting the Captain would be his No. 1 priority, and from that would flow his support to the team, and so to the BSAA itself. Chris Redfield would be his raison d'etre; anything else in their relationship would be a pure bonus. Only time would tell. Even so, he felt himself harden in his shorts at the mere thought of him. This man who emanated such heat, such masculinity, such confidence. Piers realised that it would be the supreme test of his ability to 'blend in', to remain unobserved. The prospect frightened him, but at the same time the potential for danger excited him. He hadn't felt this way in a long, long time. And he hoped the churning emotions inside him would never end. _I feel_ . . . Piers searched for the right words . . . _I feel alive!_

His mother came in with a tray of sandwiches and some warm milk. She set them down on the bedside table and ruffled his hair.

"I'm sorry Mom, I never meant to cause trouble between you and Pa. It's just . . . just that something snapped inside of me . . . I'm not prepared to take his bull anymore."

"I understand son, your only 23, you're still growing up, this is part of that journey, becoming your own man, not what your father expects you to be."

"And what do you want me to be Mom? Have I failed you too?"

"No dear, of course not." she smiled at him. "All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, in life, in work, in love, in your self. And don't you worry about me and Poppa, that's what having a partner is about, taking the rough with the smooth. You'll find that out one day for yourself; it's not always plain sailing. But Oh my! when it's good, it's good."

"Thanks Mom."

"And besides, your father's a military man. Oh, he'll make a 'tactical withdrawal' to his den for a day, re-group his forces, but in the end he'll surrender. He knows when he's been out-manoeuvred and out-gunned. My, you should have seen the look on his face when I left him, ha, ha!"

Piers looked up at her, this kind, wise, funny woman he was so proud to call Mom. He grinned.

"Are you finished packing?"

"Just about, some odds and ends."

"Well finish your supper then come down and say goodbye to your sister and brothers; we've got an early start tomorrow."

************************

His Mom had insisted on driving him to San Francisco airport from Carmel. It was a long trip, almost two hours, but it gave her two more hours with her firstborn. Piers had not said much about what this BSAA organisation did. From that she figured it was dangerous, and that he didn't want to worry her. Did he realise she would always worry about him? Even if he was just crossing the road! So for the first hour they made idle chit-chat. It was only after that she let go her pretence.

"Now Piers, I want you to be truthful with me. Don't go being evasive or telling me what you think I want to hear, alright?"

"Er, yes Mom, OK."

"Right. This organisation, the BSAA. You don't have to tell me secrets, but it's dangerous work isn't it?"

"Um . . . They're very well equipped and organised. Their personnel are all hand-picked."

"Piers! That's not what I asked!"

"Yes Mom . . . it's dangerous . . . more dangerous then anything I've done before. B, but please don't worry, I'll be fine, they're so well trained"

"Piers, you might as well tell the sun not to rise. I'll never stop worrying about you until the day I . . . well, for a long time. Where will you be based, here?"

"Yes, in Pennsylvania, Williamsport, but we fight . . . er, operate, abroad, not in America. Because we're part of the UN. We go anywhere we're needed. There are always teams on standby, around the world."

"You're fighting these dreadful creatures we hear about on the news aren't you? Zombies and such, these bio things?"

Piers looked down at his feet. "Yes."

"I see. And does Poppa know all this?"

"Ha! I'm sure he knows Mom. I'm not sure whether he cares or understands though."

"Oh Piers." she patted his leg, "Of course he cares, deep down. I told you you're both alike, proud and stubborn. He can't express himself dear, never could. Oh, he can shout, give orders, bully. But he's kept such a tight lid on his emotions over the years, he's forgotten how to express them."

She looked at her eldest son. "Sound familiar?"

"Mom! Eyes on the road please!"

"Just like your father, change the subject." she laughed her young girl's laugh, bright and merry.

"Now then, tell me about this Captain of yours, Christopher Redfield is it? The one who scribbles over official letters. What's he like?"

Piers' hazel eyes lit up at the mention of the name, a fact that did not go unnoticed.

"Oh Mom, where do I begin? He's inspiring in a way I've never seen a superior officer before. He's like a father, a benevolent one, kind, caring. He's a legend in the BSAA, one of it's founding members and very influential. A strong leader, physically very powerful yet warm hearted I think. He treats his men like family, they seem to worship him. He's not like any Army Captain I've ever known."

"Captain Perfect?"

"I, I don't know. He seems like that, but . . ."

"But what dear?"

"There's something behind the image, I don't know what exactly, a vulnerability, not something physical, he's built like an Ox . . . No, emotionally. I think he needs more than just a Lieutenant . . ."

"You're in love with him aren't you son?"

"Mom! He's my superior officer, not my b, boyfriend." Piers blushed.

Oh Piers, your words might say no, but your face gives you away every time. Just be careful, in your work, in your relationships. That's all I ask."

"Mom?"

"This organisation, this Captain Redfield, they seem to mean so much to you. I'm glad. I told you to find a cause, to find a life partner . . . The DADT business, public opinion is swinging against it, even the politicians. You never know what's possible until you try. He may be looking for you and not even realise it. Just remember, there'll always be a home for you in Carmel. Wherever you go, whatever you do, and whoever you're with. Alright?"

"I love you Mom."

"I should think so too young man." she leant across to kiss him.

"Mom, road!"

They were both silent for a while, Piers bit his lip, then spoke.

"Mom, please don't tell Pa about me and being, um, gay, you know. I worry about you and him not getting on, I don't want to add to your problems. Leave it be huh? I'm OK with that. I'll tell him one day, when I think he's ready."

"Alright Piers, it's your life, you must do as you see fit. Just remember, I'm always here."

"Thanks Mom, good to know you've got my six."

"Always have son, always will."

************************

"Are you coming in?" asked Piers, as his mother parked-up at the airport.

"No son, I hate these long farewells. I'll say goodbye here, and have a quiet minute to myself."

"You're gonna' cry?"

She smiled. "What do you think dear? I've said goodbye to your father as he's gone off to fight, now you, soon it'll be Adam's turn, then Tim's. You Nivans men are hard on your womenfolk, it's the one thing you all have in common. That and the damned army!"

Piers leant over and touched his mother's cheek, then kissed her quickly. "Love you."

She took his hand and held it against the spot he'd kissed for a while. Her hazel eyes reflected in his own. "Always come home Piers, remember."

He got his luggage out of the trunk, and closed the lid quietly. He walked purposefully towards the terminal, but then stopped, turned around and waved. His mother waved back. 'I love you son.' she mouthed through the car window. She had a handkerchief in her hand.

************************

 **The day before the interview:** The accommodation in the candidate's mess was spartan. A bed, a closet, a small desk and chair, and a hand-basin in one corner. The ablutions were shared. Piers just had time to hang his green dress uniform in the closet before they were all called to lunch; he would have to press it later.

After lunch the candidates assembled in a classroom next to the dining area. There they were given a series of lectures and film shows on the history and role of the BSAA. Whilst all the candidates had a general level of knowledge concerning the BSAA's activities, many found the footage taken during actual operations, and of the creatures encountered, disturbing. Some even asked to be released from the selection process at that point; which in-part was the intention, an initial filtering of the candidates. Having been on active duty himself, Piers found them interesting from a professional point of view; a mix of rapid and violent tactical assault and visceral close-quarter combat. However, what concerned him most was how men and women could create such monstrosities and use them against their fellow human beings. It brought home the reality of the need for the BSAA as a world force for good. Reinforcing his belief that it was a worthy cause to join, one that sought to protect and defend the weak through attacking the evil. The afternoon concluded with a series of short presentations on the BSAA's structure and organisation. Some things were very familiar to Piers, the military aspects naturally. But others, like the commercial funding and UN administration, were not. He'd never given budgets or politics much thought before, he was a soldier; there was a lot to learn. Information packs were handed out for the candidates to peruse later. They would have the evening free for final preparation, prior to the interviews commencing at 08:30 the next morning.

After he'd finished unpacking, Piers looked around the rest of the block. He found the laundry area and pressed his uniform, he wanted to create the right impression at his interview. He checked and re-checked his paperwork, making sure his service and medical records were in date order and readily accessible when required. When everything was arranged to his satisfaction he took a shower and put on a fresh shirt. He was on his way to the dinning area when he stopped. He was still a serving officer in the US Army. He was entitled to use the officer's mess, not the sterile candidate's restaurant with it's plastic furniture and equally plastic food. Besides, he might get to meet some real BSAA personnel. Perhaps even this Captain Redfield who had requested he try for Alpha Team; presumably one of the SOU's they had been told about earlier. Any intel was good intel he reasoned . . .

The bar area was relatively quiet when he arrived at the officer's mess. But even in the subdued lighting, it exuded a quality and atmosphere totally lacking in the candidate's mess. He sat at a barstool and ordered a lite beer. He took in his surroundings, there were a few people dinning in the restaurant, some others sat at tables in the bar. There was a pleasant hum of conversation, the place seemed relaxed and welcoming.

He had never been a great one for bar life in the army. He didn't drink to excess, though many of his colleagues did. He grimaced inwardly at the word. ' _Colleagues . . . most people have friends, but you, Lieutenant Piers Nivans, you have 'colleagues'!_ He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of true friends he had in the military, Mickey and Sam, his spotters, Kris and Jack, fellow shooters, and Gary Hall of course, his friend in the SEALs. He found himself staring into his beer.

"Oh dear, is life that bad?"

Piers looked up, a warm, craggy face smiled back at him, mid-late thirties, greying-black hair, green eyes.

"Rob Ellis, Captain of Bravo Team." He put out a hand, Piers keen eyes took in the nicks and scars that covered it; the fresh scabs over the knuckles.

"Lieutenant Piers Nivans, 1 SFG, testing for Alpha Team, pleased to meet you sir."

"Testing for Alpha eh? Captain Redfield told you that?"

"Well, he kinda' scribbled it on the back of the interview letter."

"Ha! That's my Chris, and that'll be one of the secondary duties he won't tell you about."

"Sir?"

"Admin, Captain Redfield can't abide paperwork, he detests it. Put him in front of a PC or a piece of paper with a pen in his hand and the big guy turns to jelly. He'll slope that onto your shoulders if you make the team. He likes to lead from behind a gun, not a desk."

"Oh I see . . . Well, I'm very organised, it shouldn't be a problem."

"You'll have a friend for life if you do. He's very loyal." Rob smiled.

"Er, excuse me Captain, those wounds on your hand? I saw some very similar the other day. Is it a BSAA thing?"

The Captain rubbed his knuckles. "Ah, you're very observant. Yes, it 'comes with the territory. We get involved in a lot of close-quarter fighting. Most of us wear combat gloves, but they rarely last longer than a couple of days."

"Yes, we saw the videos this afternoon, in the candidates classroom."

"Of course. Um, by the way Lieutenant, shouldn't you be _in_ the candidates mess right now, rather than here?"

"With respect sir, have you eaten there lately? And besides, I'm still a serving officer."

Rob laughed. "Touché. And no, not in five years. Good to hear they're maintaining standards, ha ha!" Captain Ellis nodded towards an adjacent bar stool. "Do you mind if we join you tonight Lieutenant?"

"Of course not sir . . .We?"

The Captain sat down. "Oh, my wife is with me . . . somewhere." He made a vague gesture with his hands. "She spends an hour getting ready, then another half hour in the powder room here making sure everything's still OK! Women, they're a mystery, take my word for it."

"Er, yes sir, my father says the same."

"Your turn will come Lieutenant, or has it already?"

Piers blushed a little. "Um, no, not yet, been too busy with the army I guess."

"Ah, career man eh?"

"Yes, for a while I was. Now . . . now I need something more than a career, a cause. That's why I'm here."

"Well, you've come to the right place young man. Causes a’ plenty in the BSAA, especially with Alpha Team."

"Oh? Why's that sir?" Piers was intrigued and Rob knew it.

"Alpha Team represents the best in the BSAA, ahem, along with Bravo of course." He grinned. "And Captain Chris Redfield is Alpha Team, and the BSAA too for most of us." He could see Piers was listening intently. "He's one of it's founding members, and unlike most, has stayed on the front-line. Refuses promotion, wants to stay a Captain. Setting the standard for all those who wish to follow in his big footsteps."

"He sounds . . . inspirational." said Piers, looking for the right word.

"Yes, if you're testing for Alpha it's at his personal request, Chris gets first pick of all the new recruits. Perks of being Captain Redfield. You must be good at your job Lieutenant, it's not an easy gig, believe me."

"What happened to his last Lieutenant?"

Rob looked around quickly, then leant forward. "Look, I shouldn't be telling you all this but he went crazy, couldn't handle the tantrums and the screaming, or the physical abuse come to that. Still in the psycho ward; unlikely to ever make a full recovery so the doctors say."

Piers went pale. "No! Oh jeez, that's awful!"

Rob nodded. "Only fair you know what you're getting into Lieutenant."

"Don't believe a word young man. Robin Ellis shame on you, maligning your best friend!"

The warm voice had come from behind him. Piers turned around to see a smiling face looking back at him. Both the men stood up as they were joined by a short, attractive woman, her black hair piled high, an elegant white cocktail dress accentuating her ebony skin.

"Lieutenant, may I introduce my wife, Mary. Mary, this is Lieutenant Piers Nivans, US Army. He's interviewing with Chris tomorrow for Alpha."

Piers bowed slightly and offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you ma'am."

"Well hello handsome!" she laughed, it reminded Piers of his mother's laugh. He smiled, her laughter was infectious. "Oh Rob, if Chris doesn't want him can we have him please? We need someone cute on Bravo."

"Ahem, excuse my wife Lieutenant, she thinks looks are more important than ability I'm afraid."

"Well I chose you Mister! Must have had my eyes closed!" she giggled.

Rob looked at Piers and sighed. "See what I have to put up with?" He ordered Mary's drink then went to say hello to some people further down the bar.

Piers felt somewhat embarrassed, he wasn't used to this sort of banter at home, let alone the Officers Mess. Mary sensed his discomfort.

"Oh don't believe all the bull handsome." said Mary Ellis, laughter in her eyes. "All of these macho men have got some secret or other, even Redwing. It's a defence mechanism, against the stress. You've probably got yours too I reckon."

Piers blushed, and Mary laughed out loud again.

"Ha, ha! Don't look so worried honey, you're in good company. Welcome to the BSAA!" She raised her glass.

"Who's Redwing?" he asked.

"Chris Redfield, he and Rob were in the Air Force together. That was his call sign, Redwing. Rob's was Batman. We go back a long, long way. Chris is godfather to our two kids. That's where he is now, babysitting, so Rob and I can have a night out. Our first one since Becky was born. Underneath all that muscle he's just a big pussycat. Robbie Jnr. adores him. He'd make a great father but he's never settled down."

"Oh, why?" Piers was really intrigued now.

"It's a dangerous life, especially the way Chris plays it. Guess he doesn't wanna' have the attachment, someone fretting about him back home. The boys on the teams are his family, ask any of them, ask my husband."

"Ask me what Mrs Ellis?" said Rob rejoining them and giving Mary a peck on the cheek.

"Redwing and his extended family hon."

"Ha, you're right dear. Better get used to having another father if you get selected to join Alpha, Lieutenant."

"I think I'd like that Captain. Sniping in the SFG has been a rather solitary occupation, lonely even. Don't get me wrong, I'm as much to blame for that as the army. But now I think it's time for me to put others first. I like the idea of joining a 'family'."

"Then you've come to the right place Lieutenant." Rob smiled at the earnest young man sat next to him. "And since we're talking of joining, would you care to accompany Mary and me to dinner? For a place nowhere near the sea, and the nearest cattle ranch hundreds of miles away, the club serves the best surf 'n 'turf I've ever had."

"I really should be doing some prep for tomorrow sir, but I do love a good steak . . ."

"Then that's settled honey." Mary held her arms out to be escorted to the dining area. "It's not often I get chaperoned by two handsome officers for a night out."

"I should think not, you are married you know!" said Rob.

"Can't get too much of a good thing lover boy! Isn't that right Piers? Ha, ha! Oh look Rob, he turns bright red, just like you used to . . ."

************************

 **Just before the interview:** On the morning of the interviews Chris hadn't spent an extra hour in bed as Claire had suggested the night before. He'd busied himself checking the weekend's e-mails and conferring with Robin Ellis.

"Good morning Redwing."

"Batman, how's it going?"

"Just finished. I've made a couple of copies too, I know what happened last time. Did you ever find those papers?"

Chris scratched his head ruefully. "Nope! I think my paper-eating office monster had 'em. I swear I put things on my desk and as soon as my back's turned they've gone . . . for good."

"Chris, your office is a tip, half the base's personnel files are on your desk and the other half are scattered on the floor." He grinned as he handed Chris the single page report, then saluted theatrically.

"Your man Nivans pre-formal interview report. As requested, Senior Captain Sah! And please remember Redwing, officially this report doesn't exist, and it's nothing to do with me or my wife."

"Yeah, yeah, bloody political correctness. How's a Captain gonna' find things out without some prior recon?"

"Ha! Does this poor greenie know what he's in for as your No. 2?"

"I'll learn him!" Anything additional to what you told me last night?"

"Yeh, some input from Mary, just social graces and demeanour stuff mainly. I'm not observant enough according to her. Being a former jet jockey and an SOU Captain doesn't qualify me evidently."

Both men laughed.

Chris quickly read through the report:

First Impressions: Lieutenant Nivans is a personable and articulate individual, well mannered and smartly groomed. Unattached (inexperienced?). Initially somewhat shy, even introverted, he became much more animated when discussing his areas of expertise and the prospect of joining the BSAA. He was particularly keen to learn about Alpha Team and it's 'inspirational' commanding officer. He seems to be searching for more than the army could give him, a 'cause' as he described it, which he believes the BSAA will provide. Expressed, and apparent in his demeanour, is a desire for a sense of belonging, to be more of a team player than he has previously.

Pros: He is inquisitive, self-motivated and goal-driven. Setting himself extremely high standards and meeting or even exceeding them. He claims excellent organisational skills.

Cons: He seems shy, blushing easily. (This may be the company he was in!) Whilst seeking to be a team player, as a sniper, he is, at present, more of a loner and somewhat self-centred. He appears conceited regarding his own abilities, and in my opinion, is unlikely to suffer fools gladly. He is also likely to be something of a prima-donna in an SOU environment. Given his rather singular skill-set, he has not had any opportunities to demonstrate his leadership qualities above squad level. They remain unclear.

Conclusion: Professionally and technically, I have seldom met such a dedicated and skilled soldier, and he knows it. On a personal level, he's likely to be loyal and enthusiastic. However, despite 5 years service, he remains a paradox of professional aloofness and personal naivety with untested leadership ability. Skill-wise he's your man, but it's going to be a testing and interesting journey for both of you to achieve a solid partnership. He is either going to be your voice of conscience or a pain in the ass. Most likely he will be both.

Chris finished reading.

"My thanks Batman, and to Mary too. Could be a fun ride then?"

Rob grinned. "I'll enjoy watching from the sideline. By the way, how did you know he'd go to the Officers Mess last night?"

"A hunch, instinct. It's his right as a serving army officer; he's not a wannabe like the other candidates. He's used to operating on his own terms, unlikely to spend time with the others who've nothing to offer him. Plus it's what I would do if I was in his position. Gather some intelligence on this strange outfit called the BSAA. The best place to chat is always in the bar."

Rob chuckled. "You're a sly one Redwing. He asked Mary a lot of questions about you apparently. Doing his own recon I'd say."

"Smart man! I'd do that too. Get to know your Commanding Officer better than you know yourself. Maybe we should have Mary do the interviews in future? Most times they're a pain in the ass anyway."

"But not this time, eh?"

"No, this one's different. It's a pretty much a foregone conclusion really, although I'm not gonna' tell him that. Apart from a new right-hand, I want the best sniper I can get, for Alpha, for the BSAA, and to prove these new tactics to Command. We've gotta' cut down on injuries and losses Rob, they're unacceptable. Using a sniper to look after our six when we're on the ground is the answer, I'm sure of it. He can have two heads and pictures of Albert Wesker in his locker for all I care, providing he can slot a B.O.W. at a thousand yards."

"That's a tough call Chris, to hit a killing spot on one of those fuckers at one click."

"That's why I need the best, prima-donna or not. He's already run courses at the army sniping school in Fort Benning; he can do the same for us. He's the next generation Rob; he's gonna' help us raise our game. Anything else he can learn; if he doesn't know it already. Shouldn't be difficult for a Special Forces man. Especially with such an 'inspirational' mentor."

"Ha, ha! Well, he said he'd been up at Fort Drum, working on the XM2010 ESR under Doug Tamilio. Sure knows his sniping."

Chris gave a low whistle, "The Enhanced Sniper Rifle? I thought it was still on the drawing board?"

"Your man Nivans got to take the first shots apparently, and had design input to Remington's too. Oh, by the way, I told him your last No. 2 ended up in a psychiatric ward. I think he almost believed me."

"Come on Rob, Bravo's not that bad! . . . Is it?"

************************

 **The Interview:** Chris had seen the state of the candidates when he arrived intentionally late. Only the army sniper in his green dress uniform sat quietly and calmly; his hands held palm upwards in his lap. Chris could have sworn he was meditating. Already he was marking himself out from the crowd. _I only want you, have to look at the others for the sake of some namby-pamby correctness, bloody UN administrators!_ Chris thought to himself. The remaining candidates would go before the other SOU Captains, or for less demanding roles. Chris worked his way through them methodically. Eventually it was Piers' turn to be called in . . .

"We've met before haven't we?" said Chris.

He'd only realised it was Lieutenant Nivans on the plane when he found his missing photo later; stuck under a paperclip on someone else's file. The blushing, mumbling guy in the seat next to him who looked at peoples reflections in the window. Military maybe, but he didn't seem like a confident professional soldier at the time. But then Claire did say Chris had an aura around him. "You give off some sort of 'vibe' that intimidates others, Jill says it too." He laughed to himself. _Perhaps it was that, or my after shave!_

"Yes sir, Saturday's flight over from San Diego, and then again yesterday, the flight up from Washington."

"Oh yes, you were late weren't you?" _I'm the alpha here._

"Er, yes sir, like you the day before."

"Ha! So I was. A fine pair of soldiers we make eh?" _Smart-ass!_ thought Chris.

If Chris was merely amused by their previous chance encounters; Piers' mind was thrown into complete turmoil. This was the man in 17B, the man with the divine smell, that heady mix of cologne and sweat. The man who emanated such body heat. The man with so tangible a presence that he had fantasised, indeed masturbated, at the very thought of him. Piers called upon every ounce of self-control and restraint as if he were on a 'mark'. His hands dug into his knees with the effort. He couldn't tell if the blood was draining from his face or flooding to it. His skin felt strangely hot, burning with a cold fire. _Control, calm down Piers, these are your thoughts, he doesn't know. Get a grip and suck it up, and for fuck's sake calm down! Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . that's better._

Chris Redfield smiled as he flexed his arms behind his head and pushed back in his chair. He gazed directly at the young man sat opposite him.

"So Lieutenant Nivans, you want to try for my team? Alpha, it's the best in the BSAA . . . What do I get in return?"

"I'm probably the best in sniper in the US Army. I never miss."

 _That's really all I need to know Lieutenant, but I'd better ask some more questions, just to observe form._ "That's a proud boast. Are you those things Lieutenant Nivans? Proud and boastful?"

"Yes, I'm proud of my skills, they've been hard earned. If you mean arrogant, then no, but I am confident. Boastful, no, it's just stating a fact."

 _Oh, you're cute!_   "I'm trialling new tactics, using a sniper to operate behind the tactical teams."

"You mean as a marksman?"

"Yes, no spotter, you'd be getting info from the guys ahead, occasionally from command, and from your own scoping."

"Sound's doable sir. I noticed from the video footage we watched yesterday you split the 12 man SOU into 3 four-man teams. I think they'd be more effective as 2 six-man teams. Less frontage for a single sniper to cover perhaps? Plus you'd get more effective firepower from the teams, they'd be more concentrated."

 _Oh, you're very cute!_ "Damn Nivans, you're the first person ever to watch those vids and offer something other than 'I feel sick!' That's an interesting slant. Would you be happy working out on your own?"

"I'm used to that sir. But this would be in support of my team, protecting their six. I'd feel like I was contributing, not just being used for one-off ops."

Chris noted the enthusiasm in the snipers eyes.   _T_ _his kid's a thinker, as well as a do'er. That's novel. Time for a curve-ball._

"I've got some concerns about you Lieutenant. You look young, still wet behind the ears . . ." said Chris. "How are you going to explain something to an argumentative Corporal, or get a hairy-ass Sergeant to follow your orders?"

"I can't help the way I look sir. But I'd achieve those things the same way you would. By earning respect, from leading by example. And I can ask for advice as well as give it."

 _Nice return, but . . ._ "I think you're over confident. Fighting B.O.W.s, zombies . . . it's unnerving, frightening sometimes. It's not normal soldiering."

"Sir, having people pass within feet of you when you're hidden. Sometimes actually stepping over you, and all the while they're listening, looking, scenting for you. That can be pretty unnerving too. You have to control your bodily functions as well as your emotions, that's frightening, believe me."

"So you have no fear?"

"I have the greatest respect for it. But I calculate things, in my mind, all the time. It's difficult to explain, but I constantly factor the tactical situation, compute the possibilities, monitor the variables. I'm not just one step ahead, I'm half a dozen."

"Hmm, an answer for everything eh?"

"Surely that's what being a No. 2 is? Providing Command with answers, options, tactics and strategies. And then implementing Command's decisions . . . Isn't it?"

 _Oh you're good,_ thought Chris. _OK . . . this is meant to be an interview. Time for another curve ball. I can't ask about his sexual orientation, but I sure as hell can ask him about this . . !_

"What are your intentions regarding my sister?"

"Excuse me sir?" _What the fuck??!!_

"You heard me Lieutenant, the redheaded girl you 'floored' in Washington airport yesterday."

"I, er, I don't, um have any, sir."

"Why not? Don't you like girls?"

 _Shit!_ "Um, I never . . . don't, er no didn't, have the time in 1SFG, too busy for that, er girls, I mean." _Control Piers, control, he's playing with you!_

 _Boy's obviously a novice, probably hasn't even lost his cherry._ thought Chris.

"Hmm, I can see that I suppose. Career first eh?"

 _That's it, breathe, in, out . . ._ "I can assure you I have absolutely no intentions sir."

"Pleased to hear it, cos' she asked me to tell you she likes latte, riding and she's single. I'm here to tell you don't even think about it kiddo. It's a non starter, I'm not having my sister marry a soldier, however cute she thinks he is, right?"

Piers lost it again, 'Er Yes, er no, sir. That won't be necessary. She's very um . . ." _Oh God, help me!_

"Ha, ha, yes she is . . . very 'Um'. Well, you'd better not change your mind OK? You're bound to meet her again sometime if you do get into the BSAA."

Piers blushed, "No, er, yes, sir." _Jeez, that was close._

 _Time to change tack again_. "You're not exactly a team player are you? I've read all your previous CO's reports. Apart from you sniping team members, you don't seem to join in with the rest of the boys. Why is that? I need team players on Alpha, we're a family, not a collection of Prima Donnas."

 _Shit! He's found me out._ Piers knew if he wanted to work alongside this inspiring man, he'd better give the right answer, or quit now with his tail between his legs.

"I've always lacked a cause sir. In the army I compensated for that by being the best at everything I did. And yes, that was to the detriment of relationships. I think joining the BSAA will give me that cause. An organisation where my skills can add value and be valued. And I believe that by learning from you I will become the team player you seek. I hope you will allow me to prove that to you sir. You won't regret it." _Was that enough, did I say too much? It sounded corny, Arghhh!_

Chris was silent for a while, a long while. Although he'd already made his decision, he looked at the young man sat in front of him. Sitting there, back straight, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, like a puppy, ready and eager to please it's master. He wondered if the sniper realised how much his life was going to change from now on. What impact he would make on Chris' own life. Something deep in his subconscious said neither would ever be the same again . . . _fate or destiny?_ He wasn't sure.

The warm brown eyes noticed a flicker of nervousness suddenly cloud the hazel ones of the man before him. This handsome and rather proud young sniper looking for a cause; looking for a hero perhaps? No, more than that . . . a friend, a partner? Chris realised he'd been musing too long. He smiled, a reassuring, fatherly smile. A smile that said 'It's OK soldier, I've got your back, don't worry' He stood up and put his right hand out.

"Welcome to Alpha Team Piers."

"Thank you . . . Captain."


	4. Better left unsaid?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somethings are better left unsaid, so the old saying goes. But sometimes the best things are left unspoken.
> 
> Claire and Chris enjoy another SMS and phone conversation the evening after Chris interviewed Piers. 
> 
> Chris appears to be feeling rather pleased with himself, and having got the sniper he wanted for Alpha Team, seems to have enjoyed a celebratory drink, or two!
> 
> Claire want's to know all the details, but can she read between the lines?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues the story timeline. But what was left unsaid? Perhaps Claire knows her brother better than he does himself?And what will Piers have to say when he meets Claire? Will he confide in her? TBC.....one day.

 

 **Claire:** Hi big boy, you busy?

 **Chris:** Never for you Red.

 **Claire:** Hhmm, that makes me sound like a dog, or a horse.

 **Chris:** More a fluffy kitty-kat, purrrr!

 **Claire:** Ewww!

 **Chris:** Ha! One with sharp claws!

 **Claire:** That's more like it. :) So, come on, how'd it go????

 **Chris:** What?

 **Claire:** You *know* what I mean.

 **Chris:** d(o.o)b ?

 **Claire:** Nice earrings, it's c(o.o)o btw lmao

 **Chris:** Huh? Well I woke up, got outta' bed, dragged a comb across my head,  went to work, met some people, got attacked by the paper-monster that lives in my office, beat the crap out of it. Came home answered the phone...

 **Chris:** Hey that rhymes! Big boy's a poet...an he don't know it...

 **Chris:** A new crap star is born. Oh...crap...rap...not crap, damn tiny buttons ;P

 **Claire:** OMG! Have you been drinking?

 **Chris:** Heh heh!

 **Claire:** Shall I call back?

 **Chris:** Not if you wanna find out wot I think you wanna find out.

 **Claire:** Grrrr! Why are big brothers always so annoying?

 **Chris:** I don't know...why *are* big brothers always so annoying?

 **Claire:** .. 

 **Chris:** Oh, I thought it was a riddle, jimmy riddle, rhymes with piddle...

 **Claire:** CHRISTOPHER!

 **Chris:** What? Just trying to have some fun, saving the world all the time is tough on a guy...

 **Chris:** Even with the new help...your guppie is my new team member.

 **Claire:** Ohh you got him!!!! :)) My cute hazel honey-bee smart dresser guy? Oohh, I'm gonna call properly...hold on, don't you dare go away! . . .

". . . There. So whats his name? And he's gay??" Claire squealed "I can't believe it!!"

"What! I never said that. Huh, and you said I'd been drinking."

"You just said he was a guppie."

"Yes?"

"Um, Chris, do you have any idea what that means?"

"Er, . . maybe, . . one of those rich preppie kids who drives a Porsche?"

"No, I think you mean yuppie, that's what I said last night."

"Yuppie, puppy, preppie guppie, it's all the same isn't it?"

"He's got a Porsche, Oh wow! He's really cool then. 

"Well he's not gay, and I never said he had a Porsche either. What's with you and putting words in my mouth tonight." Chris chuckled, "I'm not as thunk as some drinkle peep I am, heh heh."

"Oh, Chris, sometimes! Anyway, never mind all that now, what's his name?"

"Nivans."

 **"** What? No his first name you silly drunk bear."

"It's Lieutenant, though his friends call him Lt for short apparently.

 **"** Aghh! I hate you when you're in these silly moods. Don't tease your little girl."

"Ahh, your so sweet when you pout."

"What?

I can see you you know, it's my training.

"Well, perhaps I am, just a little. You're rather, ahem, gay yourself tonight."

"He does that."

"Who?"

"Piers, Piers Nivans. He pouts."

"Ooh, Piers . . . sounds sophisticated, sorta' foreign and sexy."

"Oi, don't you get any ideas miss. I passed your message on, and then one of my own."

"You talked about me . . . with him." she squealed again. "Wait . . . what did you tell him! Chris?"

Chris was silent.

 **"** Please . . ."

Chris remained quiet. He was thinking very carefully about his next choice of words.

"Damn you bro . . . don't make me . . . argh! Pretty please then."

"I told him that you and he were a non-starter and I wasn't having you marry a soldier. End of."

"You said what!?"

"He seemed quite relieved actually."

Claire wanted to be angry, although she wasn't really surprised. She settled for halfway. "Bearfield, you can't run my love life for ever. I'll die a virgin at this rate, just like Queen Elizabeth the First did."

"I don't want to see you hurt Claire. I've seen it too many times. Girl marries soldier, soldier goes off to war, wife becomes a widow. It's my job to protect you . . . always."

"Really? You love me that much?

"Yes, that much . . . and heaps more." Chris made some _kissing_ sounds.

 _Blast you Chris_ , she thought, _you always now which button to press_. "Love you too big bro . . . But I don't wanna be a virgin either."

"Yeh, I know. You'll find someone sis, just not in the military, OK? I did tell him he'd probably meet you quite often if he joined the BSAA . . . which he has . . . and . . ."

"Oh, so when's he gonna start?"

"2 weeks. He's gotta sign off with the army and say goodbye to his loved ones in California."

"Noooo! You mean he's married?" Claire wailed.

"What? No, I think he's still a virgin. And Batman thinks so too. At least you'll have that in common. Ha, ha! Something to talk about when you meet again." Chris suddenly realised what he'd just said. "No, wait, don't get any ideas, you'll be chaperoned all the time I swear. Besides, he only lights up when he talks about his rifles."

"Hah! No wonder he's still a virgin! Ooh, what calibre I wonder?"

"Hey, wash your mind out! I didn't bring you up like that."

"Oh yeh, do as I say, not as I do. I remember." said Claire sarcastically.

"Harrumph! Don't you start, everyone says that when I'm around, especially Jill. I'm getting sick of it."

"Well if the cap fits Captain . . ."

"Argh!" Chris groaned. "And that one as well. It's all I've had from her this afternoon, no wonder I've turned to drink!"

"Well bro, you know what they say; Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that she's always wanted to be your partner and now you've gone and got this Piers Nivans instead."

"What! What are you trying to say?"

"You've got Piers as your right-hand, or No. 2, or whatever you call it in the BSAA . . . Why? What did you think I meant?"

"Oh! Never mind."

"Chris, your not . . .?"

"What? Not what?"

"No, never mind . . ."

"Well then, since neither of us seem to mind, I might as well say goodnight."

"Oh, here we go again, don't get grumpy, please?"

"OK, OK, I'm sorry. Let's change the subject huh? When am I gonna see my girl again?"

"Hmm, in about 2 weeks I reckon." she giggled.

'Hmmph!"

"Can't blame a virgin for trying."

"Listen up lady, I'll be riding him so hard he'll be no use to man or beast, let alone a virgin queen!"

"Pardon?"

"Like breaking in a new stallion."

"Oh I see! Ha, ha, that certainly conjures up an image. We'll see, perhaps I'll bring him some oats!"

"Probably prefers muesli, seems the type."

"Um . . . Chris?" Claire suddenly sounded solemn.

"Yeess?" Chris said cautiously, he wasn't sure if he was going to like what came next.

"Seriously bro, I hope he turns out to be the guy for you; the one that's gonna temper that ol' furnace of yours and keep you safe and out of trouble."

"Thanks sis, that means a lot. You know, I gotta funny feeling talking to him, seeing him sat there at the end of the interview, like a puppy wanting to please his master . . . I dunno' what, just that something's gonna happen . . . in the future."

"Ha, ha, you _are_ drunk! The further adventures of Bearfield, Puppy Piers and Kitty-Kat . . . Oh, that sounds sooo cute!"

"Heh, heh. Love you sis, goodnight."

"Love you more bro."

"Not as much as me."

"I so do too."

"Times a million."

"Times infinity."

"Times infinity plus one."

"You can't say that!"

"Just did . . . Grrr!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
